Stoned

So here I am, stoned.  Jazz was cool, friends were friendly. And strangers, tonight… well, they were music, and bubbles and fluid. The guy goes to the bathroom.  I stare at the ceiling. That night at the pub, it was Punta del Diablo. 

Stones, plants, stars, sky and a saxophone. The music plays, guy doesn’t make a movement.

Night, night, night: swallow every spirit or soul with your jaws. Fog, autumn, leaves. Night that could have been a smile or a tear between a note and a kiss.

Cups, waitress, beer. A free girl’s spirit denies god with the smoke of her cigarette. Guy says hi, I say no. So many skies, not any joy.

And I go back to the green eyes boy… who deserves love? Who wants to be fulfilled up to that point?